“No, that’s not it, not all of it, anyway. I have to give my two weeks’ notice at the station, pack up my apartment, and say good-bye to my friends.”
Shelby looked hopeful again. “And then you’ll come back here?”
“That’s the idea,” Cassidy answered. “God knows how I’m going to earn a living, and where I’m going to live, but this is where I want to be, Shelb. Here, I’m the person I want to be. Somehow, I’ll find my way.”
Shelby beamed, threw both arms around Cassidy, and hugged her hard. “I’ll help you,” she said.
“I’m counting on that.”
Shelby was gripping her shoulders by then, holding her at arms’ length, her eyes bright with happy tears. “I’m going with you,” she announced. When Cassidy, as pleased by the idea as she was, started to protest, Shelby shushed her and went on. “Don’t argue. I’m going. I’ll help you pack, and ride shotgun on the way back, share the driving.”
“What about your business? Your dogs?” The dogs in question, a pair of elderly mutts distantly related to the terrier breed, were lying nearby, on their bed in Shelby’s studio/office, lifted their heads and perked up their ears.
“Annabelle will take care of Charles and Camilla while we’re gone,” Shelby answered. “Where do you think they stay when I’m away on buying trips?”
Cassidy nodded. “And the business? You have orders to fill.”
“I can run the shop from my laptop,” Shelby said. “I get to set my own hours, remember. It’s one of the perks of being self-employed. Besides, I might come across some great stuff while we’re on the road.”
Cassidy was choked up for a few moments. “You’d really do this?”
Shelby laughed. “Of course I’d really do it. I am doing it.”
“You are one amazing friend,” Cassidy said, after swallowing hard.
“And don’t you forget it,” Shelby replied.
Three weeks later
Twilight was gathering as G.W. left his barn, the horses put up for the night and fed, Chip at his side. He reckoned the dog was feeling a little lonesome at the moment, with Henry gone for a sleep-over at a friend’s house.
G.W. could identify; for him, nightfall was the time he was most conscious of being alone. By then, supper was usually over, and Henry, though not quite ready for bed, was especially quiet, worn down by a full day of being a kid.
Once the going-to-bed rituals were over, the dog nestled at Henry’s feet, muzzle on paws, G.W. was on his own. He could keep busy for a while, working on one of his projects in the office, reading or listening to talk radio—he wasn’t much for TV, as a general rule—but, eventually, he ran out of distractions.
Then, yet again, he had to come to terms with the fact that, basically, he was alone. As the years passed—and G.W. had already figured out that they’d go by more quickly than he would have thought possible--as Henry grew and became more and more independent, as his life expanded, his own would be shrinking at a corresponding pace.
Tonight, the sky was clear, spattered with stars from horizon to horizon. G.W. stopped, midway between the barn and the house, to look up. The sight still filled him with quiet wonder, just as it had always done.
Was there life out there?
Surely, in a universe that was, for all practical intents and purposes, infinite, there were other worlds, other living beings. He’d probably never know for sure, but that was all right, too, because a man ought to leave room in his heart and mind for a miracle or two. G.W. liked a solid answer as well as anybody else, but he found the questions interesting in their own right.
Chip’s sudden yip of excitement jolted him out of his philosophical mood.
A car was turning in at his mailbox, headlights sweeping over the terrain.
Something quickened inside G.W.
He squinted. He didn’t recognize the rig, but he definitely recognized the way his heartbeat picked up speed, the way his breathing changed.
Cassidy.
For the first time since she’d left for Seattle, G.W. allowed himself to admit, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that he’d missed her. Been a little afraid she wouldn’t come back.
But here she was.
She brought the car to a stop, shut off the headlights and the engine, pushed open the door.
G.W. swallowed, a sweet ache filling his chest cavity.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Chip, on the other hand, catapulted toward her, barking joyfully.
Cassidy laughed and bent to ruffle the dog’s ears.
G.W. still didn’t move or say anything. Before, he’d been too startled; now, he was just plain stuck.
Cassidy straightened, looked his way, hesitated for a heart-stopping moment, then came toward him. She wore a long skirt that floated around her calves in the soft evening breeze, and one of those gauzy blouses, the demur kind that somehow managed to look sexy as hell.
“Hello, G.W.,” she said, when she was standing a few feet in front of him.
He nodded, ground out a husky ‘hello’ in response to hers.
She smiled. “I’m just wondering,” she began, but her voice fell away. She stopped smiling and wrung her hands a little. Then she drew a deep breath, let it out, and tried again. “I’m just wondering if this is going anywhere.”
G.W. didn’t ask what she meant by ‘this’, because he knew. Maybe some part of him had always known.
“I sure hope so,” he said.
Cassidy blinked a couple of times, as if he’d surprised her. “Really?” she asked.
G.W. closed the space between them, put his arms around her, tentatively at first. She tilted back her head to look up at him, searching his face.
“Really,” he confirmed. He held her a little closer. Caught the spicy, floral scent of her hair and skin, rejoiced in the simple blessing of her nearness.
And then he kissed her, tasting her mouth, savoring the softness and the warmth of her. When the kiss deepened, Cassidy slipped her arms around his neck, rose onto her toes, and kissed him right back.
The contact rocked every cell in G.W.’s body and pulsed in the spaces between.
A groan escaped him.
Cassidy made a soft sound and tightened her hold.
And the kiss went on until they were both so desperate for air that they had to break the connection or risk smothering each other.
“I’m technically out of a job,” she told him matter-of-factly. “I’m living in my uncle’s house. And my romantic history is sketchy.” A soft smile teetered on her mouth. “I’m just saying.”
G.W. chuckled. “I’m willing to overlook a few faults and foibles,” he told her.
She stiffened, pretended to take offense. “So am I,” she countered. “Lucky for you.”
“Oh, I’m lucky, all right,” he replied, and kissed her again, very lightly and very briefly. “I must be, if you’re willing to take a chance on me.”
Her eyes softened and G.W. wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw tears glistening in her lashes. “This is going to take a while, G.W. We have to be sensible, take time to get to know each other.”
“Right,” G.W. agreed. And then he swept Cassidy up in his arms, to the great delight of the dog, and headed for the house.
Sensible, hell.
About Linda Lael Miller
The daughter of a town marshal, Linda Lael Miller is a #1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than 100 historical and contemporary novels, most of which reflect her love of the West. Raised in Northport, Washington, the self-confessed barn goddess pursued her wanderlust, living in London and Arizona and traveling the world before returning to the state of her birth to settle down on a horse property outside Spokane.
Linda traces the birth of her writing career to the day when a Northport teacher told her that the stories she was writing were good, that she just might have a future in writing. Later, when she decided to write novels, she endured her share of rejection before she sold
Fletcher’s Woman in 1983 to Pocket Books. Since then, Linda has successfully published historicals, contemporaries, paranormals, mysteries and thrillers before coming home, in a literal sense, and concentrating on novels with a Western flavor. For her devotion to her craft, the Romance Writers of America awarded her their prestigious Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award in 2007.
Hallmark Movie Channel is developing a series based on Linda’s Big Sky Country novels. Her latest book, which went on sale January 27, is The Marriage Charm, the second novel in her Brides of Bliss County series set in a fictional Wyoming town.
Dedicated to helping others, “The First Lady of the West” personally financed fifteen years of her Linda Lael Miller Scholarships for Women, which she awarded to women 25 years and older who were seeking to improve their lot in life through education. She anticipates that her next charitable endeavors will benefit four-legged critters.
More information about Linda and her novels is available at www.lindalaelmiller.com, on Facebook, and Twitter.
Bayside Retreat
Chapter One
“Retreat?” Jaime Alvarez groused disparagingly as he hobbled onto the front porch of the cottage that Mick O’Brien had insisted he use for his recovery. The cheerful yellow sign with its bright blue lettering that was hanging above the front steps might declare it a quaint Bayside Retreat, but for him it might as well be a prison.
Ever since he’d tumbled off a roof and broken half the bones in his right leg, he’d been completely out of sorts. Who wouldn’t be with a whole lot of hardware now holding him together and a cast up to his hip that restricted his mobility to whatever he could accomplish on crutches? The doctors and nurses had repeatedly reminded him he should be very grateful just to be alive.
At first, when his boss and longtime business mentor had shown up in that little town Jaime had designed and the company was building on a scenic Puget Sound cove in the Pacific Northwest, Jaime had been grateful to see a friendly face. He’d been too groggy and in too much pain to argue when Mick had put him on a private jet and flown him back to Maryland.
Their first stop had been Johns Hopkins in Baltimore to see a top orthopedic surgeon and assure Mick that Jaime had been treated properly. Within 24 hours of that, Jaime had been ensconced in this cottage on the bay in Chesapeake Shores, where Mick could rest easy knowing that O’Briens would see to it that Jaime had everything he needed.
Now, however, three weeks into what promised to feel like a lifetime of tedium, he wasn’t feeling the gratitude. He wanted to work. He needed to work. For more than twenty years now he’d been first an eager-to-learn intern, then Mick’s executive assistant and then the top designer and architect on small planned communities of his own under the umbrella of Mick’s company. That’s the only life Jaime knew. He’d been married to his job, which had always suited Jaime -- and Mick -- just fine.
Now, apparently, Mick was all caught up in some crazy notion that the world should exist in pairs. On that endless plane ride across the country, he’d lectured Jaime about getting balance into his life, finding the right woman, settling down and having a family while he was still young enough to enjoy them. Thank heaven, he’d been too doped up on painkillers for most of Mick’s words to set off alarm bells.
A couple of days later, when he’d been settled in with O’Briens wandering through the house at all hours with food and offers to do whatever he needed done, it finally registered with Jaime that Mick had sentenced him to take an actual vacation. Mick refused to allow a computer in the house. Jaime’s calls to the office received a friendly enough response, and even a visit or two from other architects on Mick’s team, but not a one would bring Jaime so much as a pencil or a sketchpad, much less his laptop with its sophisticated design apps. The secretaries on whom his charm usually worked were suddenly too busy to chat. They quickly passed him off to the less susceptible men.
“Uncle Mick’s orders,” Matthew O’Brien finally admitted on his second visit. “He thinks it’s long past time for you to take a break.”
“And do what? Go stir crazy? You ask your uncle just how he would have felt when he was building this company if someone had sent him on vacation in the middle of a project.”
Matthew had only grinned. “Yeah, well, that’s exactly what broke up his marriage to Aunt Megan all those years ago. Now that my uncle has reformed, he wants to make sure all the rest of us see the error of his ways.”
“But I’m not married,” Jaime argued in frustration.
“And that, as he sees it, is the worst sin of all. A successful man past forty should have a wife and a houseful of kids. If it’s up to Uncle Mick, there will be wedding bells before you ever get out of that cast.”
Jaime had stared at him in shock. “I need a drink.”
“Sorry, pal. You can’t drink while you’re taking pain killers,” Matthew had responded. “Anything else I can bring you?”
It was a testament to how single-focused Jaime’s life had been for years now that he couldn’t think of a single thing that might alleviate his boredom. A book or two might help, but he was so used to reading his favorite authors in brief snatches, he doubted he could concentrate for hours on end, no matter how good the story might be. And there wasn’t a single woman who’d come running if he picked up the phone and called. Or, maybe the truth was, many might eagerly accept his invitation, but there were none he’d want to spend more than an evening with.
“Could you at least bring me the reports on progress at the Puget Sound project?” he’d pleaded. “Maybe have the guys out there send some pictures?”
“I can do that,” Matthew agreed, then took off, leaving Jaime to stare at the bay and wonder how he’d ended up here, not just in Chesapeake Shores, but in his early 40s without a family of his own or even the kind of friends he could count on in a crisis. He had Mick -- all of the O’Briens, for that matter -- but that wasn’t the same as having buddies to drink with or women with whom he shared a real connection. To his regret, he realized that was probably the point Mick had been trying to make.
Now, standing at the top of the two steps that led down to the sidewalk, he debated risking the maneuver just to pick up the morning paper that had been tossed on the lawn despite his repeated calls asking that it be left on the porch. Apparently whoever drove by and tossed the thing had a lousy arm or bad hearing.
Up until his fall off that roof in a freak accident, Jaime had been considered as nimble as a mountain goat. Surely he could make it down a couple of steps and a few feet into the yard with the assistance of a sturdy railing and his crutches.
Feeling like a baby who hadn’t quite mastered his footing, he eased down to the sidewalk, then across the lawn to the newspaper. He stood there staring at it, stymied. Bending with a cast to his hip and staying balanced wasn’t exactly an easy maneuver. He was plotting it out in his head, when he heard a whish of sound that announced the sprinklers were coming on. Before he could take a single step, much less grab that paper, he was soaked to the skin.
Uttering a string of profanity, he hobbled away from the sprinkler’s reach, only to look straight into the face of a woman whose chiding expression could have silenced an entire room filled with unruly children.
“Really? Is that any sort of language to use in a neighborhood where children live?” she scolded.
Jaime recognized that look and that tone, because his mother would have said much the same thing, only this woman appeared anything but motherly. She was in her thirties, he guessed. She was slender, with long shapely legs displayed by her running shorts and a surprisingly curvy torso shown off by what appeared to be a sports bra covered by a tank top. Thick chestnut hair had been scooped into a careless ponytail. Now if she were his angel of mercy, perhaps the next few weeks of recovery wouldn’t be quite so painful.
Unfortunately, she didn’t look terribly sympathetic.
“Sorry, that was three weeks of frustration spewing out,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize anyone
could hear me.” He tried out a rusty smile, the one everyone told him could charm the halo off an angel. This might be the perfect time to discover if that were true. “I’m Jaime Alvarez.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Emma Hastings. I didn’t realize someone had bought Bayside Retreat.”
“I didn’t buy it. It’s just on loan to me from Mick O’Brien, while my leg heals.”
For the first time since she’d confronted him, her expression warmed. “Ah, you know Mick?”
Jaime laughed. “Doesn’t everyone in this town? He built it, after all.”
“Fair enough. Then tell me this. How do you know him?”
“I’ve worked with him for years,” Jaime replied. “I was lucky enough to get an internship with the company while I was still studying architecture. By the time I’d graduated, I was Mick’s executive assistant and soon after was designing my own projects for the firm.”
Though her expression was warmer, she didn’t look entirely convinced. “I’ve never seen you around town.”
“I’ve handled on-site management all over the country for Mick. I was working in the Pacific Northwest when I toppled off a roof. Mick insisted I come back here to mend. He wants me to think of it as a long overdue vacation. I view it as more of a prison sentence.”
She laughed at that, blue eyes sparkling even brighter than the morning sun on the bay. “A bit of a workaholic, are you?”
“So they tell me.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I love what I do.”
“We should all be so lucky,” she said, her tone hinting at dissatisfaction.
“Deadend job?” Jaime asked. “Want to come in for a cup of coffee and tell me about it?”
“Sorry, I can’t. I have to finish my run and get to that deadend job on time. See you around, Jaime. Can you get back inside okay?”
“I think so, but you might take a peek to see if I’m on the ground when you pass by on your way home.”
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